The Wounded

Everyone moved slowly. Even Pelo, who always seemed to be ready to launch from his toes, dragged his body along, investigating this strange world where people once piled plastic-looking food into giant, metal trolleys. He leaned his elbow against one, staring at a poster still managing to cling to the wall. The language was foreign, elegant strokes crossed over each other, looking like platform houses. Underneath the writing was a family: a mother, father, and a little boy dressed in red. They looked happy, the flag flapping behind them echoing calmer days, perhaps. It reminded me, there was so much I didn’t know.

My thoughts darkened at the thought of this family and so many others. In my mind, the poster started to burn at the edges, the paper curling upwards, the smiles on the faces twisted and stretched until they were more like grimaces of pain. All these people, these families, were gone.

The squeak of a wheel turned my attention, and I watched as the trolley rolled away from Pelo, clanging against a speaker on the wall. The lights flashed on and off for a second, and the speaker sprung to life, playing a kind of music that seemed to lull and infuriate at the same time. A monotonous jingle that repeated on a mind-numbing loop. Everyone quickened their pace, the creepy, empty market holding too many ghosts, too much past.

We pushed through some smashed glass doors at the back of the building and wound our way through the vegetation that groped every building, clawing at the rubble and reclaiming it. We climbed a small outcropping, a roof that was now covered in grass and plants. A tree grew awkwardly out of its gutter. A rope tied to it dangled down towards the crater. We turned to face the crumbling pile of rock and clambered down.

When my feet hit the ground, I didn’t want to turn around. My body resisted it. I heard Matthew cry out, and the others muffle their distress. Pelo put his hand on my shoulder and turned me slowly.

Simply, and without all the agitated enthusiasm he usually spoke with, he said, “I’m sorry.”

I closed my eyes. Because I knew once I opened them, an image would be buried in my head so deep that it would never leave. I needed a second. Just one. To lie and tell myself I would be able to handle this. Because of course, I couldn’t. No one would.

I opened them, blinking furiously, the light hitting my eyes and blinding me momentarily. I swiped my eyelids with the back of my hand and stared down at the grey smudge on my skin. Matthew was squatting at the edge of the crater, rocking back and forth, clasping his charm like it had magical powers. Pelo was somber, his head bowed and his hands together in prayer. But he didn’t know these people. The other Survivor sca

“Hana, Hana,” he cried.

A streak of sunken ash led to bodies, which were scattered everywhere. Some were pressed together, and some had tumbled almost to the center. All unmoving.

My eyes jumped from one face to another, searching for Joseph or Orry, but it was futile. From this distance, only the very closest could be identified. The rest were blurred or buried. I realized what I should be looking for was someone small. And my thin composure started to tear. I needed to know if the children were down there. My gaze flew from group to group, feeling my heart dying inside my body each time. One looked slight, her head buried in ash, perfect blonde hair fa

I turned. Pelo’s strong arm was straining from the pull of my weight and my will to go down.

“Let me go,” I barked. “There are people down there. I have to see… I have to make sure…”

He shook his head. “No. I won’t let you go. The ash is too deep. You won’t make it back.”

I struggled against his grip, but he snapped me towards his chest and held me tight. “I have to… I have to… what if it’s…” I cried into his chest. “Oh God. Why would they do this?”

“Shh,” he whispered. I pressed my ear to his chest and listened to his heartbeat, quick and drumming. Restless. “It’s not them.”

I pulled back and looked up at his face. His eyes were new. They hadn’t seen this kind of devastation. It was horror he was holding inside, for me. I knew he was lying to make me feel better. He didn’t know any better than I did who was down there. He didn’t even know who I was looking for.

I let him lie. Even though it didn’t feel quite right, I let him comfort me for all the times he hadn’t in the past.

I stayed like that for a few minutes until I heard the shuffling of pushing on. We were grief stricken and desolate, a new kind of emptiness echoing out of the Hole and trying to swallow us. But that wasn’t everyone down there. We had to keep going. No one looked down. We held our gaze in front of us and held out hope that someone was waiting for us on the other side.

I missed Rash. I didn’t want my father’s help or comfort. I wanted someone here with me who understood me. Who knew, even without me really telling him, what I had been through. To me, Pelo was a half, even less, a tiny thought of what he once was in my life. Joseph and Orry kept me going, kept me planting each foot down in the path of ash. I watched my footprint, slowly blowing away like it was never there. If anyone was going to get out, it would be Joseph. Then dark dread crept over me because I knew Joseph was also the kind of person who would stay and fight.

There was nothing to do but keep pressing on. The light dimmed and the wind snapped, iced teeth tearing at any exposed skin. It swirled around the base of the crater and brought the smells of the dead towards us in a foul, cold bouquet.

Ahead, Matthew turned and motioned with his hands to pull away from the edge again. I was relieved. The raw, torn edges of the ripped-up road and eaten-up buildings resembled my crumbling nerves. We were all clinging to the edges of our sanity like ants to the corner of a leaf. I needed to get away before I felt compelled to give up and dive over it. I needed to hear Matthew’s voice, hear something alive, human. The howling wind was like a thousand voices, as if the dead were clawing their way back up. I followed him quickly, imagining hands were about to grab my legs and pull me under.

*****

We dipped under the torn bridge towards a narrow alley, where two buildings supported each other, forming an apex. The wind suddenly ceased its screaming. Thick, green vines snaked up the walls and through the windows, slowly reclaiming, like lazy worms, pulling the buildings to the earth. I had no doubt they would eventually get their way.

We caught up and huddled around Matthew, rolling and knocking against each other like aimless marbles. He dusted his hands off, painting his pants with black streaks. Pulling off his mask left a wide, black, drawn-on smile around his mouth like a clown, where the dust had collected in the meeting between mask and skin. We all did the same. “Does anyone suffer from claustrophobia, a fear of small spaces? Although I probably should have asked you this before we left…” he said in a worn, cracked voice. The other Survivor had been here before. His question was aimed at Pelo and me.

I hugged my body tight. “I don’t think I’m going to like where you’re going with this, am I?”

Frederick, the man who had identified his daughter, Hana, as one of the dead, stepped forward, his ash-stained face striped from tears. “I’ll help you, little rabbit,” he said kindly. I liked his rumbling voice, comforting in this ridiculously unfamiliar situation.